


it's not that I bother with references

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Flirting, Golf, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Multi, Tailoring, country club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: Life, for you? It's pretty good. You're pretty sure you make life for them pretty good, too.





	it's not that I bother with references

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grubbutts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/gifts).



> "Old guys bein old guys. Maybe they're wearing tacky hawaiian shirts and play poker (maybe even strip poker), that kind of thing. Do the other two tease Bro for being young (or at least acting like it)? The old men show Bro how to be an old man. What if they play golf, maybe go to a casino, smoke cigars at a country club, old dude stuff haha. Does Bro go along for the irony? Is Grandpa Harley showing them how it's done? Maybe Dadbert is like straighten up Ambrose, proper gentlemen sit upright when the appetizers come. And then Bro just slides off the chair and sits on the floor like ok, I'm sitting upright. Lol just some old dude shenanigans"
> 
> this started with the idea of bro getting dragged off to play dress up and really went off from there

You're standing on a tailor's platform when you tell them it's a little bit like _Pretty Woman_ , in a way where it's absolutely nothing like _Pretty Woman_ at all, and they actually get the joke.

"I favour a wider lapel, myself—"

"And I tell you each time, Harley, you truly ought to know better."

Actually, they get a certain amount of your humor, in a bright-eyed way that makes you wonder if you're not the centerpiece of some grand joke of theirs—a kind one, of course, you don't think they'd have it any other way, but an escapade, a jape, nonetheless. "Could do with some assless slacks," you drawl, just to turn it back on them.

It works: A riotous guffaw from Harley, and a sputtered denial from Egbert.

From the looks they're both wearing once they settle down, though, and from the resigned expression the tailor wears, you have a feeling you will not be going home without those slacks.

* * *

You are not allowed to wear the slacks to the club. That, they inform you, is for a different, much more _selective_ club, known for its, ah...discretion.

You would definitely be lying if you said you weren't burning up eager to get to see _that_ club, but you have unfortunately been informed that you'll first need to show off your good manners at _this_ one. Fine, then. They'll see exactly what you can do.

You are _very_ lucky that you're not the only attractive sidepiece someone brought along, because otherwise, you might've looked very out of place settled into Harley's lap, as he smoked a cigar. Smugly. Who the hell smoked smugly, how the hell had he learned to do that—

"If that's the way you want to play it," Egbert murmurs, just within your hearing. It is, and you grin, noting the amusement you see in him as well. Across the coffee table, some of the Other Fellows have started a debate on hunting, of all things, and Harley is easily invited to join. 

Egbert, meanwhile, has been drawn into discussing the merits of pipes versus cigars, and seems prepared to hold forth on the topic, at length.

It's not that you're starved for attention. Perish the fucking thought.

It's just that you _like_ the attention, which is exactly why you stand up and give them a slightly sort of heartbroken look. "I thought," you say, and you _know_ they know you're playing them, "you were going to teach me to play golf?"

A great sigh from your two boyfriends goes up, and uproarious laughter (you're glad to know you amuse, gents) follows. "You heard the lad! A round of golf. Harley, I'll order you a cart. Egbert, I assume—"

"Yes, yes," he says, shoving out of the chair. "We brought enough clubs."

You're in for it later, you know. But you've never minded learning "old guy" things, or running with this particular crowd, or teasing the both of them in whatever new way you've found.

* * *

Harley brackets you on one side, his moustache twitching with barely suppressed laughter, when Egbert takes the other. "I don't suppose we could persuade you to try on a golfing outfit?"

You blanch. "Nope."

"Perish the thought," Egbert mutters, steering you both towards the waiting cart. "He'll be wanting it backless, next."

"I've changed my mind," you announce, but they've already gotten you seated and they're driving off. Well, fine. You can make this work just as well.


End file.
